The Black Phoenix
by Wonktastic
Summary: Betrayed and left for dead, a disgraced general finds himself wandering the country of Ylisse. That is, until an encounter with a group of bandits in Southtown leads him on the path of vengeance.
1. Chapter 1

_Today is the day of the coup, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I don't know when it'll start, but I need to get out of here. The pieces are all in place, and let's face it, the plan is fucking perfect. How did I not see this earlier? This is my fucking job. There's nothing worse than being outdueled, outmaneuvered, out-fucking-witted by an idiot, and here I am, writing a pathetic entry into my journal about being outsmarted by someone who shouldn't be in charge of anything._

_What a great Fifth I've been. Fuck. _

_I don't feel like writing anything else._

* * *

The coup had already started. Fire torched the once majestic city of Osliton. Centuries old architecture fell as fire caused even the most resilient of structures to fall. That which fire could not destroy, looting claimed. The evening sky above streaked with smoke. Rivers of illuminated ammunition – flaming ballista and catapult rounds – cut through the sky. Hundreds of men lined the city streets, executing those who had pledged loyalty to the Emperor.

Through a dark alley way, a man cut quickly and pressed himself against the wall. He breathed deep, obviously tired from the way he panted. He poked his head out passed the side of the wall, checking to make sure no one was still following him. Satisfied, he exhaled and slumped along the wall. Gods, he was so tired. He had been running almost non-stop since the coup began that morning. At the very least, he had almost made it to the docks. Maybe a minute or two of running and he would get there. The still loyal members of his spy corps had ensured that a small boat, a cutter, would still be at safe at dock.

_"Gods damn that bastard! I should have killed him years ago!"_

He regretted not killing him. He should have done so, but he was overconfident. He was sure that the bastard wouldn't have done anything even if he were alive. Now look were it got him. He was on the run in the capital city, a city that should have been loyal to him. He took one final deep breath before propping himself up against the wall. He was tired, so very tired. Soreness had already set into his muscles, and his joints ached.

Forcing himself to move, he started into a slow jog, moving down the alleyway and into the main street. Most of the fighting was centered in the middle of Osliton, where the Royal Guard attempted to fight back against the sea of flesh that was thrown at them. The fighting had started in the morning, where the Royal Guard had received reports of fires being set near the Imperial Castle. While splinters of the Guard attempted to police the areas, more and more fires began, slowly drawing away the guard from the center of the city. After they had been spread thin, the coup began. Hundreds of citizens unleashed knives and whatever blades they could find in their homes. Taken by surprise, the guards were killed without putting up much of a fight.

He shook his head as he kept jogging. No need to think about the past. He needed to keep moving. He apparently had been given a kill on sight order from the usurpers. He snorted a little. It wasn't like he was dangerous anymore. He didn't have his spies, they had all been found and killed. Any of them who weren't found disappeared underground already. His assassins had been scattered and were trying to survive by themselves. Even his elite Shadow Corps, his personal cloak and daggers, had been found, and while they certainly put up a fine display of killing, nothing could stop an overwhelming flow of bodies. Hell, even his armies had been scattered. The infamous Death's Hand couldn't even fight back as they were murdered in their beds in the dark of night.

Still, he kept moving. The docks were right in front of him. He would get out alive.

"General! What a lovely surprise!" he heard. He stopped. "_No, they've found me?"_

He turned around, only to find the man who he should have killed so long ago. The massive fat roll of a man stood before him, eagle eyes glinting in the darkness. His robes were bloodstained, and he held a bloody sword limply by his side. On his head was the bloody crown of Oslia.

"Duke Mahkno," he acknowledged. "Judging by the crown, the Emperor is dead."

"Oh yes. I killed him a few hours ago. You should have seen him squeal like a pig! But, enough talk of dead men, I am more interested in what's going on in front of me," the Duke smiled evilly. "Surely, General, you weren't planning on leaving the city! What would Oslia do without its precious Fifth? Why, you don't even have an heir to leave the title to!"

"Is that why I have a kill on sight order placed on my head?"

"Oh that little thing?"

It wasn't a surprise to say that he hated the absolute fuck out of Duke Mahkno. The fat piece of shit was a greedy, corrupt bastard, the only lord who had somehow managed to make money during the war ten years ago rather than lose money. There was also his liking for the little virgin girls in the red light district. That just made him a disgusting pervert. He was a cruel and evil man. Hell, Duke Mahkno was almost a stereotypical fantasy villain.

"I hardly consider that little. Especially considering how it's made my day rather shitty," he retorted. He needed to buy time. If he'd been found that meant that in the brief period of time that they had been speaking, he had already been surrounded. He had no doubt that whatever forces the Duke was commanding were elite. After all to sneak up on his own Death's Hand, and to defeat the Royal Guard, they had to be some sort of crack troop. That meant that he needed to gaud the Duke into doing something stupid and escape. That, or pray that the gods loved him enough for a miracle to happen.

The duke laughed. "I would imagine it would make your day rather horrible, wouldn't it?"

"Well, it already started off as a rather shitty day. Woke up on the wrong side of bed this morning, you see." He glanced around, trying to see if anything would allow him to make a distraction or something.

"Ah. I see. Unfortunate."

"Yes, quite."

There was an awkward silence.

"So, can I leave now? I'd prefer not to get executed."

Duke Mahkno laughed.

"That's a yes right? I can leave now?"

The duke laughed again. "I'm sorry, General," he said, wiping a tear from his eye, "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. You see, your family tends to have an… obsessive loyalty to the throne. I need to make you an example."

"Oh. Well. Shit."

With an unvoiced command, the duke's soldiers swarmed him. He fought back of course, but the weight of the day suddenly collapsed on him and he could barely put up a fight. He managed to lash out at the nearest attacker, and landed a solid blow to the man's nose, breaking it and sending blood flying through the sky. He wasn't so lucky with any of the other soldiers though.

A swift blow to the head knocked him down to the ground. Two guards picked him up and forced him to his knees.

The duke walked up to him, a lecherous grin on his face. "… you can't have my ass," the general forced. The blow to his head was still affecting him, and he felt the world start spinning. That was probably why he was continuing to taunt Duke Mahkno.

"I wouldn't want it."

"Bullshit."

"Ever the dirty mouth, general. Even at the brink of death. Admirable, perhaps." A deadly glint flashed across the duke's eyes. "You know, I wonder what else that mouth is good for."

"…see, you're just incriminating yourself right now."

The duke narrowed his eyes, instantly getting the reference. "Slander and insults to the end I see."

The guard's grip grew tighter as the duke pulled a small black vial from his robe. The general knew what this was, he knew it because he was the one who had brewed it just the other day. Poison, and a deadly one at that, containing quite a few agents that worked effectively to attack the brain to leave a man a writhing wreck on the floor.

Duke Mahkno saw the look of familiarity in his eyes. With a grin, he swirled the vial around. "Recognize this? This is the poison that's going to end your life. My favorite part is that you were the one who made it. Men!"

A rough gloved hand grabbed at his jaws, forcing his mouth open as the Duke uncorked the deadly poison. He walked forward, swirling the liquid inside the vial. Almost nonchalantly, he poured the poison inside the general's mouth. The hand shoved his mouth closed and forced him to swallow. The poison went down his throat, the raw acidity of it burning and stabbing as it went down.

Gagging, he managed to spit out, "Damn you, you bastard! Damn you to hell! I'll kill you for this! I swear, I'll kill you for this!"

Duke Mahkno leered over him, his devilish grin somehow shining in the moonlight. "General, where was this fire earlier? Where was your pride? I thought you were the Fifth, weren't you supposed to stop this from happening in the first place? And yet, you've flopped over and died. You let me walk right on top of you. What did legends say, that you were supposed to do what was necessary? Not a very good Fifth are you, General?"

"Fuck you!"

The duke simply laughed and turned to walk away. "Enjoy the poison, General. I hear it's quite painful."

The general thrashed against the hold. He knew the poison inside and out, after all, he had made it. He knew that he had at most ten minutes before the poison would set into his nervous system and start destroying him from the inside, and that was if he were incredibly lucky. That meant he had thirty minutes of actual movement before the poison would cripple him. He would then have another ten minutes of twitching before he died, horribly and painfully.

The guards let go, now confident with the knowledge that, within the hour, the last of the Emperor's finest would be dead.

"I'll kill you, you rat bastard! I'll kill you!" the general howled, writhing on the ground. He could feel the poison beginning to sink in, making the very tips of his fingers numb.

"Let's go," Duke Mahkno said, motioning for his guards. "He'll die soon. May as well let him stew in his own misery."

He needed to move, and he needed to move fast. He knew the antidote, any good poison maker could make antitoxins, but where could he get the materials? And how could he get them before he died? And, hell, the antidote needed an hour at the very least to mix completely. The cold sensation sank into him; he was going to die here. Fear set in his heart and time felt as if it had slowed down to a halt.

_Oh gods, I'm going to die. I'm going to die. Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods, oh gods._

It was at that point that the improbable happened. From the corner of his eye, he saw a hint of movement. Two black clad soldiers popped into view, quickly and quietly. With practiced precision, they moved quickly up to the duke's guards and slit their throats.

"We're under att—" the words were cut off as an arrow lodged itself in the guard's throat. From the rooftops, a group of the black clad soldiers appeared, armed with bows and arrows. The street filled with arrows as the Duke's guards scrambled into action. Shields were raised, swords were swung, and the street filled with blood again.

The general picked himself up and ran. He knew who they were. The black clad brings of death, his very own company of seasoned assassins, the Death's Hand. Things were looking up, just slightly. He kept moving, the burning in his legs returning, as he was driven by the desire to get away. He put one foot in front of the other as many times as he physically could. He could do it. He _had _to do it.

Then the horrible crippling realization that _he couldn't feel his fingers_ set in.

_Fuck. I can't feel my fingers. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

The poison was working quickly, and if he didn't get the antidote soon, it would be too late.

_Fuck._

He didn't even know why he was moving, clinging to a desperate attempt at life. He knew that creating the antidote would take time, time that he didn't have. Even if he were to somehow make that antidote before his body failed him, he didn't know if he could take it before the poison did serious damage to him. He knew that the antidote needed to sit and mix and form into a solution before it would do anything. The two active ingredients needed to break each other down and form into an entirely new ingredient before they would act on the poison.

_There go my feet._

He collapsed on the street, his lungs burning. He couldn't feel his feet or his fingers, and slowly, he felt his arms and legs dying. His vision started to go cloudy, and his thoughts turned into piles of jumbles layered on top of each other. His mouth felt dry and pasty and he wanted to vomit. The sounds of battle had long since disappeared, replaced with a low whine and the sound of… a voice? Something?

He tried desperately to listen closer, but he could barely concentrate. Did the poison move this fast?

"General."

There was the voice again. Did the poison make hallucinations too?

"General, drink this, you'll feel weak, but you'll be fine after a short time."

He felt cool glass touch his lips and a vile liquid slip into his mouth. The taste of copper and old people assaulted his tongue. He wanted to spit it out, but he felt so tired. Eventually, the liquid crawled into his throat and he couldn't resist the urge to swallow.

"Captain," another voice said, "the courtyard is secure. We have a straight line to the docks. A small transport vessel has been prepared."

"Take your unit to the rooftops, secure the AO as we are en route. After we have finished, consider your contract severed."

"Roger."

The feeling of being picked up and almost violently hoisted onto a man's back was not foreign to the general. He had been wounded in battle more than a few times, and the quickest way to evacuate a casualty on foot was to hoist the man onto another's back. But with the hallucinations and the inability to feel his limbs made this particular feeling a little too much.

Bile clawed up his throat, and a disgusting mix of water and other bodily fluids decided to exit his body via his mouth. The resulting mixture covered the ground, conveniently missing the man carrying him.

"Urgh. Thank you, general, for not vomiting on me. Good aim, if you're conscious."

"Urghiemnoaeconcaiouseo" came the muttered, and possibly delusional, reply.

"I will assume you said something along the lines of 'thank you Captain Koslov! I have been practicing my vomiting skills for many months!'"

Slowly but surely, the general felt his body return. He still felt weak, but at the very least, he could feel. His vision was still blurry, but he felt the hurried long strides taken underneath him. Rough leather armor scrapped at his chest, knocking the wind out of him just a little as the man underneath continued running.

"…Koslov?" he asked weakly.

"Of course it's me, General. Who else would come in the middle of the night to make a daring rescue? Only the great Captain Koslov!"

The general coughed. "Bring me back," he said weakly, barely managing to point toward the direction in which they had just come, "I have to kill that fucker." The general pushed and squirmed, struggling weakly against the larger man's hold. The man's grip just tightened.

"Stop struggling, General. You're much too weak. I promise you can kill him later. For now, you must survive. We're here."

Here referred to the docks, where a small transport ship sat there afloat amidst the wrecked husks of the once proud Oslian navy. Fire had wrecked the devastated docks, or what was left of it. Even the civilian vessels, merchant ships and fishing boats alike, had not been spared from the blaze. Ballista bolts and massive boulders and crushed arrows littered the scorched docks, indicating that, at the very least, the Oslian Navy didn't go down alone. Outside the transport vessel was a frail old man, supporting himself up with the help of a healing staff. Upon seeing Captain Koslov run over, he quickly shuffled towards them, ushering the two toward the ship.

"…Captain Koslov, why are you doing this?" the general asked as the captain quickly dropped him to the ground.

"Because, Colonel General, you are an important player in Fate's game. I also tend to try and save my superiors when they are near death, it's the right thing to do, no?" the orange haired man said, a ghost of a smile flashing on his face. He turned toward the healer.

"Sir healer, please, take the General as far away as you can. Keep him safe. He is the future of Oslia."

The old man just nodded and grabbed the general by the collar of his shirt and started to drag him toward the ship.

The captain's face hardened as he turned toward the general, now being dragged inelegantly on the ground. "I promise your revenge will come soon. I pray you find neither fluff nor feathers, General."

The general managed to choke out a response as the healer dragged his almost dead body aboard the small transport vessel. "Go to hell, Koslov," he said feebly, finishing the traditional expression. The last of his energy used up, the general slipped into a deep sleep.

It would be the last time he would see Oslia in a long time.

* * *

_The final blow in the conquering of the once great empire of Oslia was the razing and destruction of the capital of Osliton in 422 After Dragon. The city fell to the Valmese warlord, Walhart after the betrayal of Duke Leon Mahkno, who secretly coordinated with Walhart in order to bring in Valmese troops into the city. Once the Valmese units were in place, a coup d'état occurred in which rebels, already fed up with the continuing war between Oslia and Valm, stormed the gates of the castle with the assistance of the infiltrators. The resulting battle between the rebels and their Valmese allies and the royal guard of Osliton was a quick and decisive one. Caught off guard, the royal guard was swarmed and destroyed. In addition, many of the army battalions in the vicinity were destroyed by quick Valmese action. Caught up close by the heavier infantry and great knights of Valm, the much more lightly armed Oslian defenders were crushed. _

_Oslia, once the reigning super power of the western continent, had fallen to Valm. _

_- Excerpt from "History of the Emblem"_

* * *

If you're down here, it's probably either because you've read this chapter. Hopefully, you liked it. If you didn't, that's okay too. Personally, I thought this was a really bad chapter, but that's because I'm a bad writer, and... yeah. Anyway. The end really sucks. I think I repeat "dragged" like six times. But that's okay.

I'll keep this note short. This is what happens when you take Fire Emblem Awakening and make it bigger. Much, much, much bigger. Battles are conducted between hundreds and thousands of guys instead of... fifteen.

I also throw in a new character! Basically I thought that Robin was a child who needed to grow up because it's impossible to keep everyone alive in war. While it's nice, and I totally agree with the idea of trying to keep as many of your guys alive, it's naive. A lot of characterizations of Robin tend to make him/her obsessed with keeping everyone alive, and a lot of people do this thing where Robin grows up by accepting loss.

Too bad that's not happening. Nope. We're going to throw in an asshole who subscribes to the Russian Army's way of doing things. That's how we're going to solve this. Growing up and character development? Naw, let's just throw in an asshole who says shit and kills people.

Anyway, that's all of that. I hope you enjoyed reading this meandering piece of garbage.


	2. Chapter 2

_The legends say that Oslia was founded four millennia ago, after the battle between the Dragons and Man had ravaged the world. In the end, the king relied on the might of five great heroes to bring the Dragons to an end. To honor their accomplishments, the king decreed that the five heroes would be given honors unparalleled in Oslia. When he asked what the five wished for, the five answers were given:_

_The first said: Let me be honor. Let justice run through the hills and valleys of Oslia, and let all my people be safe and true. I will be the First, the sword of Oslia. _

_The second said: Let me be wisdom. Let knowledge flow through the rivers and plains of Oslia and let my people be rational and wise. I will be the Second, the staff of Oslia._

_The third said: Let me be strength. Let might surge through the mountains and forests of Oslia and let my people be healthy and powerful. I will be the Third, the spear of Oslia._

_The fourth said: Let me be courage. Let bravery embed itself through the towns and the cities of Oslia, and let my people be hardy and determined. I will be the Fourth, the spirit of Oslia. _

_The fifth remained silent, and when asked the question, hesitated to speak. _

_Finally, he gave his answer: Let me be death. Let our enemies know that Oslia is guarded by demons. Let them know that I am a rider of darkness, and a reaper of souls. I will be the Fifth, the wrath of Oslia._

_A celebration was held in honor of the five heroes, but only four attended. The Fifth had vanished into the darkness._

* * *

He couldn't sleep, and not for lack of trying. The ship was too damn rocky. Every wave seemed to flip the ship over onto its side. He rolled back over to his side before deciding that he really couldn't stand the rocking anymore. He picked himself up from the cot and sat, his feet dangling off the side.

The healer that Captain Koslov provided had done his job admirably. He had been doused with anti-venoms over and over again in order to purge his system. In truth, if the antidote Captain Koslov gave him was the correct one, the poison would have already left his system and wouldn't be a danger to him. The other antidotes just made his life a bit miserable with the violent vomiting. "After effects of the potion" the healer said. He knew well enough that it was true, but a part of him thought that the healer really fucking hated him and wanted to see him in serious pain.

Time seemed to slow down on the vessel. No not just slow down, it seemed to stop entirely. Boredom had replaced the pain and discomfort of being poisoned. Day after day after day was spent sitting and staring and wondering when in the name of every single god they were finally going to cross the fucking ocean.

A part of him wished he were still vomiting. Then at the very least, he could be looking for new places to vomit.

It had been a few weeks (he had to check with the old healer, because he honestly thought it had been a year or two) since he had left his home, and he couldn't help but feel a bit homesick. He had done it before; he lead campaigns and conquered lands, but the thought of never being able to go back home struck a chord in him.

No, it wasn't that he wasn't able to go back home. It was the fact that there was no home left. Home had ceased to exist. The army was scattered, fleeing as far as their feet could take them. Osliton had been burnt to the ground, razed and salted. Its citizens had been murdered. Its lands had been conquered. The emperor was dead, beheaded and replaced by a fat, disloyal prick. Oslia, what he had called home, was gone.

_You called yourself a loyal general. Funny. You're alive and the man you served is dead, his body decaying in the dirt, his head on a pike in front of the castle walls. And all you did was run away. Like a coward._

_Coward._

He had time to wallow in misery. He had more than enough time. Hell, that and reminisce were definitely on the top of the "things to do" list. He talked to the old man sometimes, he did odd jobs on the ship here and there, but for the most part, he sat in the room and waited.

_Father would be disappointed. He never failed this badly._

He let out a small snort. His father, the previous Fifth, had passed his position down to his son. Not because he thought his son was the best choice, but because it was tradition. He would have carried on with the role of the Fifth if it weren't for his failing health. His father had said numerous times that if it weren't for the weight that tradition carried, he would have gladly given the position to anyone else. There were, his father said, at least twenty people he could name off the top of his head that were better suited, more cunning, more ruthless, than he was.

He was a miserable failure, a worthless sack of shit that didn't deserve to breathe.

_Yeah, well, clearly I got that part right. Definitely got the part of failing miserably right. What were the legends? That the Fifth was the Rider of Darkness or some stupid shit? Old men trying to be dark and scary and try and make a single asshole general a deterrent. That worked oh so well against an axe wielding red hulk in armor. _

No, Walhart the Conqueror was not the one who put him in the predicament.

_Mahkno. I'm going to kill that fat fuck. I'm going to shove a sword into his throat and laugh as he chokes on his own blood. _

A knock on the door stirred him from his thoughts. He got up slowly and walked over to the door, opening it to reveal the old healer, leaning against his staff.

"Ah, general. How nice of you to awake."

The general snorted. "I've been awake. The damn ship won't stop rocking. What time is it?"

"Slightly past mid-day," the healer said, walking inside. "I wanted to inform you that we will be making landfall within the hour."

The general nodded. Finally. His legs were turning into jelly from all the damn rocking that _still wouldn't stop._

"Perhaps," the old man continued, "you would like to leave your little hovel and venture into the wide open world?"

The general grunted an indifferent response. He did, however, feel the urge to stretch his jelly legs. Without another word, he left the room, and climbed the ladder up and out of the ship's cramped interior.

The light was blinding. After being stuck in a half dark room illuminated by shitty candles for weeks, just being out in the sun was invigorating and at the same time painful. He winced as the light stabbed into his eyes.

_And now I'm a vampire._

His eyes adjusted after a few seconds, and he was back to normal. The deck was relatively empty, at least empty compared to what he was used too. He had sailed more than a few times, but the ships he had sailed on were all crewed by the Oslian Navy, meaning they were usually filled with half-drunk sailors singing sea shanties while firing flaming arrows at pirates. This transport ship was manned by a small skeleton crew of maybe twenty men. Really, it was a miracle to find twenty men who were willing to sail into a burning city to rescue a poisoned, delirious man. How Koslov ever managed to arrange for the vessel to come was beyond him.

_Money can buy anything, I guess. Although that begs the question: how did he get that much money? I don't manage his paycheck, but I'm fairly certain he doesn't make enough to afford a ship and a crew. I hope he isn't moonlighting as a stripper or something…_

Relief came to him as he stared out toward the east. Land. To the east, mountains jutted into the sky, the peaks shrouded by mist. As the ship approached, he could see more of the land in front of him. Tall pine trees grew as far as the eye could see, with only a small village interrupting the endless glades of green. Near the village was an old, dilapidated dock, more suited for small fishing boats than anything else.

One of the men approached the general. The man was clearly the captain, with the fancy hat and the awful ruffles adorning his clothes.

"Captain, where the hell are we?" the general asked, turning to face the captain. His Ylissean geography wasn't exactly the greatest in the world, and he had no idea where they were.

"Regna Ferox, home of the barbarians."

That was a name he was familiar with. And he wasn't particularly happy about that.

"You chose the land of barbarians." It wasn't a question. It was more of an incredulous statement. "You couldn't have moved the ship slightly southwards where we could go to a nation where people don't argue with their fists? A place where people make rational decisions instead of finding the weakest person in the room and pummeling him with their shoes?!" he hissed.

"Plegia?" the man said, trying, and failing, at hiding a wry grin.

"Ylisse, the godsdamned Halidom! The only normal country in the fucking continent! The only country not ruled by someone with an obvious mental condition!"

"Ah, General, would that I could. I hear Ylisse is filled with bountiful harvests, rich and elegant cities, and beautiful women... But I have a ship full of cargo, and a ship full of cargo needs to stop where it needs to stop."

The general frowned. He wanted to retort with the fact that they could always turn into pirates. But then he felt like a whiny spoiled child. He sighed. "Fine. At least barbarians are better than demon worshippers."

He should have considered himself lucky. If it weren't for the random ship owners, he would have been, most likely, dead in an alley way somewhere. At least, at the very least, he was very far away from people who wanted him dead, even if he were in the land of people who solve problems with axes to the face. That didn't mean he had to like it, however.

"Might I ask, General, what you are planning on doing when we arrive?"

The general opened his mouth to say something, but then realized, he really didn't know. He had spent the trip wallowing in his misery, thinking about what he could have done in order to prevent the razing of his home. He didn't want to think about the future.

"Plot my revenge?" he said. Honestly, he didn't really even want to do that. "Be lost? Die due to frostbite? Fight and challenge one of the Khans for supremacy of Regna Ferox? Oh, become a goat herder and live the rest of my life in the mountains? Hell, I didn't even know where we were until just a few seconds ago. Do you really expect me to know what I'm going to do?"

"At least a general timeline."

The general ignored the last comment. "When are we going to reach the dock?"

"About fifteen minutes. You might want to get all of your things packed up right now."

He got a grunt in response. Seconds later, shuffling his feet, the general walked back below decks and into his room. He grabbed the pack from the corner. He had already prepared, anxious for the boat ride to finally be over. The pack didn't contain much: a few changes of clothes, money, trail rations, just a few things he would need if he were to be traveling a lot, which he certainly planned on doing. The captain's question did make him think though. He really had no plan. Perhaps he would wander and just… do things. Maybe he would be a goat herder.

Grabbing a pack didn't take all that long, but the general sat in the small cramped room with the pack on his back just brooding. Eventually, he realized that he had just sat there staring at a wall in a dark room for a few minutes.

_What the hell am I doing? Moping? Gods above, what is wrong with me?_

He shook his head in an attempt to clear his thoughts. He needed to leave the room, because all it did was cause him to brood, and he didn't want to do that. He want to get to Regna Ferox.

Maybe, he thought, he should start over. Cast aside the sword and pick up a hoe, become a farmer. Or become a merchant. Or a teacher. Or a sailor. Or pastor. No one knew who he was in Regna Ferox. No one knew who he was in the entire continent of Ylisse. If he wanted to, he could become a totally new person.

Yes, maybe that was the plan. To make a new person. Start a new life.

Or maybe, that was his delusional thoughts convincing him that cutting Duke Mahkno's throat didn't seem at all appealing.

Didn't mean he couldn't do both.

_A new life. Until I find an opportunity to return and murder Mahkno. _

By the time he reached the deck, the ship had already reached the dock. The hustle and bustle of sailors unloading cargo filled the air. On the deck, sailors and merchants grabbed large heavy boxes filled with goods and moved them into the small town. By the side, the captain and the old man stood, talking in hushed voices. Hushed voices were never good.

"Captain," the general greeted as he approached the two. The conversation immediately stopped as the two acknowledged the new person.

"Ah, general. Have everything you need?" the captain asked.

The general grunted back a reply.

"Very well," the captain said with a nod. "I expect you will be escorting our fine guest from the ship?" he asked, directing his attention back to the old healer.

"Yes, captain. Thank you for your service."

The captain brushed off the thanks with a wave. "No. Thank you for the gold," he said, a wry grin appearing on his face. With that, the captain excused himself and went back to his men, immediately yelling for them to work faster, and that cargo didn't unload itself.

"So general, thought of what you will do when you step off?" the healer asked once the two were alone.

That was the question he had debated with himself for the time he had spent in the hold. He thought he had arrived at a suitable answer.

"I want to lay low and start a new life. At least until I find the opportunity to return to Oslia and kill Mahkno."

"Ahh, loyalty to the throne."

"No," the general interrupted. "I just want to kill him. For my own satisfaction."

The old man frowned. "Beware, general. When seeking revenge, you must dig two graves. One for your victim, and one for yourself."

The general cut him off with a wave of his hand. "I don't need your philosophical bullshit. The thought of murdering Mahkno makes me happy, and I will go through with it."

Quieter, he continued, "Besides, I've already lost my humanity long ago."

A silence settled between the two men as they watched the sailors cracking open the various crates and begin to distribute the cargo inside multiple warehouses.

"I know I cannot sway you general. If revenge is your path, I wish you luck. I only pray that when your revenge is satiated, you will still know who you are."

A twinge of frustration settled deep within the general's heart. He wanted to yell at the old man for not understanding anything., for being a condescending sack of shit. What did the old healer know about revenge? He was the fifth, the most ruthless and most deadly man in the continent of Valm, and to him, revenge was sweet. Revenge was necessary.

"I've already had my revenge on dozens, what makes this any different?"

"Because for once, you are dealing with your own loss. Not your army's loss, your country's loss, your lord's loss. You are dealing with your own emotional baggage."

The general snorted. His own emotional baggage. The old man made it sound like he was an angsty teenager, rejected by the farm girl next door.

"Sure," he replied. The non-committal reply ended the conversation immediately.

The two waited there. They waited until the men had finally cleared all the cargo, the merchants had finally bought all their wares, and the dock workers had finally stored all the remaining goods. They waited until the afternoon was almost over. The dock cleared out and the only remaining people were the crew, now getting completely drunk at an awful hour, and what little remained of the dock workers, who were gambling amongst themselves in a corner. The rest of the dock was a nigh ghost town.

"Time for me to head out then," the general remarked. He liked the fact that the area was empty. Fewer people would see him, but that wasn't the biggest reason. He just didn't like the crowds, and he wanted to stay on the ship. At least on the ship, no one was going to potentially kill him.

"Aye, general."

The general grabbed his packed and double checked one more time to make sure he had everything. Then, he slung the pack on his shoulder. Then, he looked back at the old man.

"Sir healer," he said, very professionally, "I pray you find good health and good luck." The old Oslian goodbye for when they possibly would never meet again.

"General, you will need to watch what you say. Most people in Ylisse speak in the Common Tongue."

Without hesitation, the general switched languages, abandoning the rough Oslian he preferred and switched to an almost accent less Common.

"I'm familiar with Common. Goodbye, sir healer."

The old man nodded, but replied back in Oslian.

"Also, Sir General, you will need a new name."

_Gods above, I want to leave, stop fucking stopping me from descending this goddamn plank._

The old man, however, was right. He couldn't use his real name here, not in Regna Ferox. His goal was to lay low, to stay unnoticed, and he would need to be as careful as possible. He knew that, at least under his command, his spies were everywhere. He had spies in all three major countries in Ylisse. Still, word traveled slow, especially across oceans. There was actually the chance that his spies were still loyal to him…

No, better not risk it. By the time he could make contact, he expected his spies to have done what they were ordered in case Oslia fell. They were to immediately cease work, burn all documents related to what they were doing, and sever all contact with Oslian Intelligence. The more loyal, and more fanatical ones, were to commit suicide in order to lead any possible pursuer into a dead end. He had given that order himself.

Besides, the spies he sent over to Ylisse were the shitter spies, the one that had probably already backstabbed him. It was really for that reason why he sent them across the goddamn ocean to perform the most menial spying tasks. Their orders had no real impact on anything. He had no plans for Ylisse back when he actually had a position. As the saying went, out of sight, out of mind.

He did learn some rather amusing information though. Apparently the prince of Ylisse wore the most hilarious smallclothes.

"A new name," he said to no one in particular, switching languages again. He was just more familiar with his mother tongue, although, he would have to make sure to use Common from then on.

"Might I make a suggestion?"

The general nodded.

"Aedan."

"Aedan?"

"Yes, after an old legend. It is said that he was the son of a betrayed house. His country was shattered by civil war, its borders under attack by foreign nations, while the countryside run amok with monsters, and yet Aedan reunited his kingdom and drove back the evils that plagued it."

"Are you trying to draw parallels or something?"

The old man just smiled. "I might be."

He was sick of legends. Legends were the things that got him in this mess in the first place. He didn't say that though. Frankly, he didn't want to come up with a better name. "Fine then, Aedan… It is a good name."

With a nod, Aedan stepped forward, down the plank, and into Regna Ferox.

* * *

Howdy anyone who cares to read this.

Next chapter is where we actually get to the meat of the story, ie, we finally meet Chrom and company.

College has started, which basically means I don't have time to write as much as I used to. I will try to update as fast as possible, but if you don't see me in like five months, it's because I was murdered by triple integrals.

Hope you enjoyed. Have fun with your life.


	3. Chapter 3

_A few years later…_

_Who'd ever think that I would end up here? If anyone told me I'd be in this shithole, I would've laughed. I've abandoned all that I have known, life has become a puzzle to me. Really, what do I do now? I had order and structure and now I have nothing. I've taken a few odd jobs along the country side. I've worked for needy farmers, helped out in churches. My god, in churches. Hell, I was a tutor for a few months, and what child would like to listen to me prattle on about politics and history? I would be cultivating the next lunatic despot if that boy paid any attention. If anyone told me this were to be my fate a few years ago, I would have dismissed him as a lunatic._

Aedan sighed and closed his journal. Clad in a ragged black cloak, he kept his head hidden under his hood. Placing his journal in his weather beaten bag, he paused to survey his surroundings. The local tavern was the gathering place of everyone from every social class, though anyone higher than "common street thug" was rare. Everywhere around him, people lounged around with mugs of beer or ale. Some chose to gamble at dice or cards, while others preferred to lounge about with their friends, chatting about the day's comings and goings. Others, the rowdier ones, started flirting with the few women inside.

Aedan sighed again and drank deeply from his mug of ale. With a gulp, he downed the last of the amber liquid. Flicking his wrist lazily, he gestured toward the bartender to refill his mug. Nodding, the bartender grabbed a new mug, turned around toward the massive barrels of beer behind him and filled it up. Then, he sent one of the numerous barmaids over to him.

Aedan scratched at his unshaved stubble as he waited. Aedan wasn't anything exciting to look at. No defining characteristics at all. From what anyone could see, he was tall and lanky with a small animal growing on his cheeks, but by the way everyone in the bar avoided him – besides those serving him the liquefied vomit the tavern called beer—it was as if he had twenty seven heads or something.

_Thank the gods people avoid mercenaries._

Aedan sat where he usually sat, in the far corner of the tavern, facing the south wall, with the shorter side of the L-shaped bar counter to his immediate left. It gave him a nice place to brood over things, as well as satisfy his paranoia. With a field of vision over all the entrances to the tavern, he could make sure that nobody super suspicious would be entering the tavern. Mostly though, it just kept him away from people. On occasion, he did accept visitors, an amusing distraction that took his mind off of things. Today was not one of those days.

With a nod, Aedan took the beer from the maid and drank again. He wasn't nearly drunk yet, and he wanted to drown his memories in alcohol. A part of him wondered if he could somehow drink away all the alcohol in Southtown.

_Hmm. Probably not, but then again, I do remember the time when the 1__st__ Corps managed to drink all the vodka in Osliton, and Osliton is a very _very _large city. _

A small pang of guilt struck his heart. It had been three years since he had left Oslia and traveled to the continent of Ylisse. He had landed in Regna Ferox, and wandered around the harsh country, taking work when it presented itself. He had made a name for himself, not too much of a name but a name nonetheless, doing mercenary work. The Khans of Regna Ferox were always looking for able fighters to curb the bandit problem and on occasion, find people who would champion their cause for supremacy over one another.

Eventually, Aedan wandered away from the snowy plains of Regna Ferox and into the grassy fields of Ylisse. Frankly, the weather in Ylisse was much nicer, and that was honestly his motivation in wandering into Ylisse. He found work as a farmhand, and helped teach the farmer's little children their letters when the summer farming was over. Eventually farming tired him out and he set off again, wandering around and looking for work.

That was how he found himself in Southtown, trying to _stop fucking remembering shit._ Because really, the only thing he wanted to do was _feed his alcohol addiction._

_Gods, why am I thinking about this now?_

There was a sudden bang as the door to the tavern burst open. Six men shoved themselves inside, nasty grins on their faces with wicked blades in their hands. The whole tavern went silent as they stared at the men who came inside. Aedan's hand instantly went to the pack he carried beside him, placing his fingers on the hilt of his blade. He would keep it there, on standby. If the men were bandits, he would need to defend himself.

And, lo and behold, they were. _Of course they are, what self respecting human being walks into a tavern with his sword out? And how the fuck does this keep happening to me?_

"Well, lookie here," the bandit, Aedan thought he was the leader as he looked the dirtiest, said. Then he laughed.

"Gwa ha ha! Get to it lads!" he barked, "grab anything shiny and put the rest to the torch! We've got an example to set for these Ylissean types!" He grabbed a nearby barmaid by the arm and leered at her. "Ain't that right, lass?"

The barmaid struggled against the bandit's grip, screaming. "S-stay away from me! Please, someone! Help!"

Nobody moved an inch, as if they had all been turned to stone. Aedan gripped his sword, but did not draw it from his bag. He didn't want to be involved. The less he did, the better. If he could just leave, he could continue wandering. There was no need to get into further trouble. Trouble, however, just loved to find him.

The bandits walked from person to person, snatching valuables and rounding up the more attractive females into a corner. Aedan frowned as one the bandits approached him. No way in hell was anyone touching his stuff. The bandit held out his hand, demanding Aedan's bag.

That was when the bandit discovered he didn't have a hand anymore.

"AAAAGGHGGHGHHH!"

Aedan's blade was out in a flash. He had whipped it out as fast as he could, striking the man's forearm, and easily cleaving the arm in two. With practiced ease, he stood and leaned into the bandit, stabbing him through the eye. Kicking the corpse off of his blade, he faced the rest of the bandits.

A few seconds passed as everyone tried to understand what had just happened. Then, unsurprisingly, everyone in the tavern broke out into hysterics. The already chaotic mess turned into a hurricane of screaming and running and yelling as people scrambled toward the door. Aedan jumped into the crowd of bodies, using them as a distraction to close the distance between him and the bandits.

The horde of people scrambling to run away collided with the bandits at the door. Flailing limbs and rushing bodies slammed into the five bandits, bowling them over and knocking them to the ground. In the midst of the crowd, Aedan moved quickly, from bandit to bandit, making sure each of them were dead with a quick cut of his blade across their throats.

The only problem was that he counted five dead bandits. One of them, the leader, had escaped. Which meant that he was either running the hell away, which Aedan prayed for, or he was rounding up more of his thugs to gut him.

He rushed out of the tavern, his bag slung over his shoulder and his sword gripped tightly in his hand. He needed to get the _fuck_ out of Southtown as fast as possible. With his bloodied clothing and considering the bloody sword he held in his hand, it was pretty obvious that he killed quite a few people inside the tavern. And considering how all but one of the bandits never _left _the tavern, it was pretty obvious who died inside.

What he found outside wasn't exactly what he had hoped for.

The town was already in flames. Brick and mortar had melted and smoothed into glass. Fire licked at wood, crackling and crinkling, laughing as if it were a demon of pure destruction. It certainly brought up more than a few memories.

_Shit._

And it certainly put a stop to his plans.

Five bandits surrounded the tavern, armed and dangerous. The initial wave of townsfolk was already gone, scattered and fleeing from the bandits, rushing into houses and preparing for the worst. Many had grabbed their belongings and fled. All that meant was that the horde of people that had run out with him had already scattered and disappeared from sight. Which meant that he had no cover. And judging from the menacing grins on the bandit's faces, that wasn't a good thing.

_Fuck._

He dropped his stance and watched as the first bandit ran at him, screeching a bloodcurdling battle cry.

_Idiot. Running in like that without anyone to help you is going to get you killed. Especially considering I more than likely murdered your friends. I mean, I have fucking blood all over me. _

Aedan struck like a snake. Before the ax could even be swung, he was already in motion. His first blow struck low, hamstringing the bandit and causing the bandit to scream in pain. The next came quickly, cleaving the bandit's head in two. Blood spurted into the air like a fountain.

That certainly got the other bandits' attention, and the remaining four charged at him, hoping to avenge their fallen comrade. A collective cry pierced through the cackling of flames as the four of them closed in on Aedan, axes raised high into the sky.

Aedan cursed and shifted to the side, isolating one of the bandits and forcing the others to arrive just a few seconds late. A few seconds, however, were all Aedan needed to kill the first. With a practiced strike, he slit the man's forearm, forcing him to drop the ax uselessly to the ground. A stab to the chest finished the first, and Aedan ripped out his blade to prepare for the second.

The next two arrived immediately after he had finished the first. He parried the first bandit's axe, pushing it away to the side, and ducked under the second, watching as the bandit's momentum carried him past Aedan. He followed up with a vicious kick to the back, sending the second sprawling into the other, and leaving both of them in a heap on the ground. Confusion reigned as the two bandits tried to scramble and push themselves off the ground, but by the time either of them had even managed to reach their feet, Aedan's sword came over and cut their throats.

That just left one more.

He noticed the bandit, but too late. He tried to jerk back, but the axe caught him the shoulder. Biting back a curse, he switched his sword to his other hand, knowing that his injured shoulder was going to make him completely useless on one side, and parried the next blow before deftly struck at the bandit's hand, causing the axe to fly out of the bandit's hand as he jerked his hand back. Spinning, he aimed a slash at the man's head. The sword struck and managed to lodge itself a few inches inside the man's head.

_Thank the Gods that father demanded I learn how to fight left handed._

"Hang on!" a sudden voice cried from behind him. _Shit! Another?_

He turned, wincing as his arm flailed wildly out of its socket. Nearly dropping his sword, he gripped his injured shoulder and tried to stem the steady flow of blood. Whoever yelled was probably going to rip his head off.

Thankfully for him, the one who came by was a small, petite blonde haired girl, no older than eighteen. Her hair was pulled into two long pigtails, making her seem even younger than she actually was. She ran over, frightfully fast considering her choice of attire. She wore a large yellow hoop skirt, bulky and cumbersome. In her hands was a healing staff.

_Not that I don't appreciate the staff, but who the hell wears that on a battlefield?_

"Hold on okay?" the girl said, as she set the staff to the side. "The axe dislocated your shoulder. I have to set the bones before I can knit the wound back together."

Aedan just nodded, and grit his teeth in preparation. He had had quite a few bones set back into their rightful places, and he knew it hurt like hell. With practiced precision, the girl wrapped her fingers around Aedan's arm and his shoulder and with a heave and a sickening _crack! _set the bone back into place. Aedan barely managed to muffle a groan of pain as he reflexively clenched his fists.

"Okay, stay still," she said, picking up the staff by her side. A warm light surrounded the staff and she brought the head of the staff to Aedan's injured shoulder. A tingling sensation spread across his body as the magic disseminated into his skin. Aedan glanced down at his shoulder and watched as muscles and blood vessels slowly knit themselves together before finally being covered by skin. The pain he felt from the injury numbed and eventually turned into a dull ache.

_Impressive, most healers can't get rid of the scar tissue. _

"Thank you," he muttered as he rotated his arm, checking to make sure that it was working as it did before he had an axe stuck in it. It was at that moment, he noticed a bandit approaching, attempting to be as stealthy as possible.

He jumped into action, shoving the girl to the side and moving forward. The first strike came from above, and he ducked, barely avoiding the axe head that could have easily taken his head off. The second struck vertically, and Aedan rolled out of the way, bringing him behind the bandit. As he stood, he swung, and with an easy swing of his sword, he lopped the man's head off.

He turned back to the girl who had healed him. "Stay here, don't move. I don't care if there's someone hurt, you will stay where it's safe. Tend to the wounded after the fighting is over if you don't want to lose your head."

"But-!"

Aedan blew off the rest of the retort. There were things he needed to do that didn't involve protecting a little girl. He needed to get the hell out of Southtown. Where were the other evacuating civilians when he needed them? They could have at least been good cover. He took the northern approach, toward the cathedral near the center of town. If he could make it to the cathedral, it would be a straight line from there to the main exit.

Too bad the cathedral was the exact location of where most of the bandits were.

"Fuck!" he hissed. He slammed himself against the wall in a desperate attempt to make his silhouette smaller and pray that no one saw him.

"Of course they're going to be in the center of town, where all the nice things are. They're fucking bandits, they steal things!" he hissed. He was angry with himself. He knew he was smarter than this, and yet he ran into the middle of town in an effort to get out through the quickest way. Why didn't he just stick to back alley ways and smaller streets where there weren't nearly as many people.

Still scolding himself, he analyzed the situation. The cathedral was located on a small island like patch of land. The only ways to actually get to the cathedral were by four pathways leading to it from the cardinal directions. Near the cathedral were bandits, including what looked like the bloodied appearance of their leader. Along the bridges, more bandits stood by, eager to leave with their spoils.

_The fucking town guard sucks. Did they all get killed or something?_

The sounds of combat suddenly filled his ears, and he quickly looked around for the source of the commotion. Toward the south bank, bandits circled a group of warriors. There were three of them, one a mounted heavy knight, another wielding a large broadsword, and a third with a spell book in hand.

"Okay," Aedan muttered. He would need to get to the south bank, or at least stay hidden until he could move to the south bank. By the way the battle was going, the group would easily rout the bandits. Their axes were either dodged, parried, or completely blown out of their hands by strikes of lightning. If he could rendezvous with them, he could use the distraction to get away from Southtown. If that didn't work, he could stay hidden, and wait for them to drive the bandits away before he slipped his way through the cracks.

"Hey!" a sudden voice cried from behind Aedan. Startled, Aedan spun and swung his sword violently, aiming to lop off the ambusher's head with one strike. To his surprise, it was the blonde girl that had healed him earlier. Luckily for her, Aedan had assumed it was an average male, and the sword flew over her head, shaving off a few stray hairs.

"Wahh!" she cried, curling up into a ball, her staff raised in a weak attempt to deflect any attacks.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Aedan hissed. "I told you to stay away! It's too dangerous out here for a child!"

"I am not a child!"

"You are a fucking child!"

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

"Am not!"

Aedan wanted to scream. It was in her best interest to get the hell off of the combat area, especially considering she was a little girl with a healing staff, not even a weapon. Maybe, just maybe, if she were armed with something more than an over glorified stick, he might have let her be. It was then that he noticed that another group of bandits had heard their little shitfest and decided that it would be a good idea to investigate just who were acting like tiny children.

That was when he heard the sound of a sharp _twang! _Aedan bit down a curse and grabbed the blonde and shoved her to the side and into an alley way. With a small yelp, she stumbled and tripped and fell flat on the floor, just in time to avoid an arrow that would have gotten her in the throat.

"See what I mean?" Aedan murmured, before turning his attention to the archer. The archer wasn't that far away, maybe a dozen yards at most. Still, at a dozen yards, a good archer could put another arrow down range, and considering he didn't have anything in the form of cover, he could only pray that the arrow missed.

Aedan sprinted forward, only to find that his way was suddenly blocked by another bandit, this one a lanky swordsman. Suddenly abandoning his wits, Aedan decided that it would be a good idea to shoulder charge the man. He threw himself forward, slamming his shoulder against the swordsman's chest, causing both of them to collapse onto the ground. Now in a better position, Aedan straddled the downed swordsman and then drove his own sword into the man's chest.

Quickly pushing himself off the ground, he stumbled forward a bit before he finally caught his footing and continued his charge towards the archer. He kept as low as he could to the ground, trying to keep his center of mass away from any arrows that might find their way into his body.

Too bad that didn't work.

The archer was a better shot than Aedan had initially predicted, and had adjusted his shot to Aedan's reckless charge. He fired an arrow, straight and true, and watched as the arrow slammed into Aedan's chest.

Aedan groaned in pain as he felt the arrow stab itself into his upper chest. His left arm became limp as waves of pain radiated from his upper chest. He stumbled, and tried to catch himself with his good arm but fell uselessly to the ground. Miraculously, he managed to grip onto his sword as he fell, clenching the damn thing as if it were his life line.

Aedan turned his attention back to the archer and just blankly watched as he notched another arrow and take aim at Aedan's fallen body.

_Huh. I really would have expected to have died in a much more climactic way. Preferably with more explosions._

That was when a bolt of lightning struck from nowhere, incinerating the archer and turning him into a pile of charred meat.

_That wasn't an explosion._

"Robin!"

"Lissa! There you are!"

_Robin? Who the hell names their child after a fucking bird?_

From beyond the charred remains of burnt bandit stepped a woman, tome in hand and a wide grin on her face.

_Oh. Well. Apparently her parents._

She was tall, probably standing nearly as tall as Aedan did, and he was a giant among men. Silver-white hair reached down below her shoulders, framing a soft, round face. She had a quick smile, one that seemed to pick people up no matter their mood.

In her eyes, however, Aedan saw death and despair. He saw the hollow eyes of a woman who had commanded men and watched them die.

_Huh. _

Then he suddenly felt hands all over his chest. And then a massive wave of pain. He looked incredulously at the pig tailed girl, who was now chucking a bloodied arrow to the side.

"Fuck!"

"Oh quit whining."

"I just got an arrow pulled out of me!"

"Psh, and they call me delicate."

"An arrow! In the chest!"

"See what I mean? Not a child. I don't whine when someone is clearly helping me," she said with a small grin, as she started cleaning the wound of any dirt. Satisfied that the wound was clean enough, she grabbed her staff and sealed the wound, leaving nothing but raw pink skin behind.

"Lissa, I'm glad you're safe. What happened after we got separated?" Robin asked as she walked up.

"I was ambushed by a few bandits but I managed to escape. That was when I noticed this guy hanging around fighting back, but then he got wounded, so I had to go help him!" she said, still bright and cheery even though the town was still burning and the bandits were still alive. Aedan was confused to say the least. "Speaking of which," she continued, turning her attention to Aedan, "what's your name?"

"Aedan," he grunted, rotating his shoulder and making sure his body was still functioning correctly. He was lucky. If the arrow had been just a few inches upwards or slightly to his right, then he would have been a dead man. Instead, the arrow had just managed to lodge itself a few inches below his collarbone. His chest would feel sore, but at least he wasn't coughing blood. Or dying.

She might be a child, but goddamn, was she a good healer.

"Alright," Robin said, a look of relief evident on her face. "Chrom and Fredrick are mopping up the last of the bandits right now. The rest have already scattered. We're going to meet back up at the cathedral once we're done here."

_Chrom? Wasn't that the name of the…Doesn't he have a sister with… then that means… fuck. I think I just called the princess of Ylisse a child._

"Okay," Lissa said, standing up and leaning slightly on her staff. "Let's get going." Then, as if all the exhaustion of healing had suddenly left her, she started to march over toward the cathedral. Robin smiled again, and followed her.

"Come on then," Robin said to Aedan as she started walking after Lissa. "Might as well group up, right?"

"Might as well," Aedan muttered, standing up and following the white haired woman.

By the time they reached the cathedral, Chrom and Fredrick had already killed all the bandits but one.

"C'mon you, Ylissean pigs! I'll fight you here! You'll never take me alive!" the leader of the bandits yelled, waving his sword wildly as he moved toward the two knights. Fredrick, ever the no nonsense warrior, just trotted up on his horse and ended the man with a swift thrust through the neck. The bandit gurgled a few words before he choked on his blood and finally died.

"Well, that's that then," he said, emotionless. He withdrew his lance and wiped the blood from the tip on the side of his horse.

"That's that," Chrom agreed, sheathing his sword and wiping the sweat from his brow. Then, noticing the new arrivals, he turned on his heel and smiled.

"Lissa! Robin! You're safe!"

Then, he noticed Aedan, following a few steps behind.

"And someone else too, I see."

Aedan stopped in front of the blue haired man and, upon connecting the dots, dropped to one knee and dipped his head.

"Prince Chrom," _Fuck, I really did just call the princess of Ylisse a child, didn't I? On a different topic, how the hell is his hair naturally blue?_

"Ah, so you know who I am?" he said, gesturing for him to pick himself up.

_Yes, I did try and spend a lot of time spying on you. Mostly in an attempt to kill you and your sister and take the Fire Emblem, but that's a totally different story. _That didn't come out of his mouth, though. It sounded more like "Most everyone in Ylisse knows their ruler, milord."

"Please, don't call me that. I'm human, just like you are. Just Chrom will be fine. What's your name?"

"I am called Aedan."

"Aedan. A strong name. After the legend, I assume?"

_How is it that everyone knows this fucking legend except me?_ "Yes, milord."

Chrom shook his head. "Are you just going to keep calling me that?"

"It is how one addresses royalty, milord."

Chrom just shook his head again, a small smile appearing on his face.

"Very well, if you will continue saying that, I won't stop you."

He turned his attention toward Robin and Lissa, who had been speaking to each other as Chrom addressed Aedan.

"Holy wow Robin! You were incredible! Swords, sorcery, _and_ tactics! Is there anything you can't do?" Lissa exclaimed, walking excitedly around Robin, making one singular circle around her.

"You're certainly no helpless victim, that's for sure," Chrom said. He gave her a look, examining her from head to toe. There was a look in his eyes, as if he were evaluating her performance.

From behind Chrom, Frederick narrowed his eyes as he addressed Robin. "Indeed. Perhaps you might even be capable of an explanation for how you came here?"

"I understand your skepticism, Sir Frederick. And I cannot explain why only some knowledge has returned to me. But please, believe me. I have shared all that I know."

Frederick's eyes remained narrowed. Aedan just looked at the two and shrugged slightly. Robin could have been holding a dark ass childhood for all he knew. He saw the eyes. He knew exactly what war did to a person.

And hell, the fact that all five of them were having a very civil conversation and not crying or staring off into space or vomiting or something was a very big surprise. Aedan couldn't help but wonder how many times they had killed.

"Frederick. She fought to save Ylissean lives. My heart says that's enough," Chrom said softly.

"And your mind? Will you not heed its counsel?"

"Frederick, please. The Shepherds could use someone with her skill. Brigands and unruly neighbors threaten to bloody our soil. Would you have us lose an able tactician? I believe her story, as it is."

Aedan wanted to snort again. _If you're going to war, little prince, you'll need a bigger battle than that to determine someone's tactical thinking._

"I would have her in the Shepherds," he said, making up his mind. "If of course, you will have us."

Robin blushed a little, clearly unused to the attention.

"I would be honored."

That was when Chrom turned to Aedan and said something completely and utterly ridiculous.

"And you, Aedan? Would you like to join the Shepards, Aedan?"

Frederick's mouth gaped. "My lord!"

Aedan didn't let the knight finish, as his sentiments were almost the exact same.

"Me? Join the Shepards?" Aedan barked out a harsh laugh. He was surprised to say the least, and all formality immediately disappeared. This was definitely not what he was expecting. It was almost hilarious to him. After all, he did spend time trying to kill the man, not trying to get all "buddy buddy" with him. "I don't think I'm quite the person you're looking for. Not one of your fancy knights."

Chrom shrugged. "So? You don't need to be a knight to join the Shepards. Most Shepherds are just civilians wishing to defend their country. Anyone who protects the citizens of Ylisse is a friend of mine. And the Shepards always are in need of a good sword hand."

Aedan laughed again. Protecting the citizens of Ylisse was not what he was doing. He was only trying to save his own skin, and that just happened to involve murdering a few bandits. The initial shock of the prince asking him to join his own merry band of militiamen wore off, however, and rational thought took over. He wasn't in Southtown because the ale was good (it was actually piss poor), he was in Southtown because he was sick of farming and he wanted to do something that didn't involve picking carrots out of the damn ground for weeks. He _did _need to find a decent paying job, and working for the crown prince was bound to give him a reliable source of income. And besides, he was definitely above average at stabbing people.

That didn't mean he wasn't suspicious or anything. What person would go and find untested people to go join a, more or less, elite militia unit? Aedan wouldn't have accepted anyone into his own battalion unless they had experience and were proven.

"Just like that?" Aedan asked. "No strings attached?"

"Yeah. Like I said, the Shepards always need good talent. From the way you protected those villagers, I know your heart is in the right place."

Aedan repressed the temptation to snort.

"You're not paranoid that I'm some sort of spy or something?"

Sure, Aedan was just a random passerby, but there were a few tales of nobility in Oslia being killed by someone they brought in who just happened to turn out to be an assassin. How any of the plans actually worked was beyond him, though. That kind of supernatural chance didn't happen. Not for him anyway.

"No. Not at all."

_Wow, I really should have taken over Ylisse earlier. This guy is way too trusting._

"Alright. Well. In that case, I am a mercenary."

"And you will be paid."

"There's usually some more negotiation."

"I'm the prince of Ylisse. Unless you make an absolutely ridiculous request, I can pretty much afford to pay for your services."

Aedan paused. That certainly wasn't a response he was anticipating. He was already ready to negotiate. "Alright, fair enough."

He paused again. Really, there wasn't anything stopping him from saying no. He wanted to get out of Southtown. He wanted to be paid. And… well, there really wasn't anything else. It was a good way to alleviate boredom and he was, well quite frankly, good at killing people.

But at the same time, he didn't want to join the _fucking prince of Ylisse._ He didn't want the attention. He had been paranoid for the longest time. If he joined the Shepherds, would word get out? If it spread to Oslia, would whatever puppet ruler decide that he was a threat and send assassins?

And war was on the horizon. All those years ago, he wanted to stop fighting and live a simpler life. At least get a taste of being a farmer or a shopkeeper or something. If he liked the life he would have abandoned all thoughts on revenge and kept living that life. Now, here he was, caught because of his horrible indecision. On one hand, he could try to keep living that simple life, wandering and teaching and farming and on occasion being a mercenary, or he could ally himself with Chrom's Shepherds and wander around the countryside purging bandits and the familiarity and _fucking comfort_ of being back on a battlefield.

_Why is life so fucking hard? _

"All right," Aedan said after what felt like the longest time, "I'll join your little group of shepherds. It's better than wasting away in Southtown, and besides, I do need some paying work."

Chrom smiled.

"Welcome to the Shepherds, Aedan."

* * *

I'm convinced I can't spell. The word "Shepherd" has been misspelled like seventy five times throughout the course of this chapter. That being said, I think I need someone to actually proofread and edit these things.

Anyway, Aedan meets Chrom! Violence! Blood! Yeah! I don't really like the action part of this chapter, but the whole purpose of being short and choppy was to make it seem as if Aedan is murdering these guys with little to no difficulty. Okay, he gets hit once and basically gets his shoulder snapped in half, but HE KILLED LIKE SEVEN DUDES AT ONE TIME! This ain't no Fire Emblem, where you find the Risen once you get OP and put two people together and just start farming the shit out of supports!

Ahem. That is all.

I'm going back to using Lagrange Multiplers to find the maximum dimensions of Satan's shit if the total surface area is like 64 meters squared.

Read! Review! Have fun!


End file.
